Steve Smith stood, perplexed, isolated and understandably troubled. He had effectively been labelled a cheat or, at best, an opportunist. Cricket’s capacity to conjure controversy, even on the most somnambulant of days, never ceases to amaze.

Ian Bell was within his rights to stand his ground when Smith
casually claimed a catch in the gully as England were gently
squeezing the life out of the Lord’s Test. It seemed a routine
sequence, and stirred few passions; the Australians barely
appealed, and ambled to congratulate the fielder.

He appeared to have placed his fingers, which were flat on the
grass, under the ball. Since we no longer live in an age when a
simple reassurance that the ball had carried suffices, Smith’s
integrity was then implicitly judged by the third umpire, Tony
Hill.

Bell, on three, survived to score 71 more runs. The crowd booed,
and the moral majority rushed to ascend the steps to the pulpit.
Their nerdy cousins began to get disconcertingly technical about
the foreshortening quality of the modern TV camera.

A colonial poet with access to the official Cricket Australia
Twitter account observed: “That decision sucked ass.” The hashtag –
“bullshit” – left little room for manoeuvre. The apology for an
undignified, unnecessary outburst was rapidly offered, yet the
sense of frustration at the questionable parameters of
technological influence will endure.

The last thing this Ashes series needs is another provocative
situation, which tests the conventions of competitive courtesy
between teams. The tourists, already facing potential humiliation
on the fourth day of a contest that will sap their will, spirit and
self-esteem, cannot allow any sense of resentment to foster.

Test match cricket is a hard school, but it is also a platform
for old school cricketers of all ages. Joe Root, who possesses the
features of a fourth former and the instincts of a playground
bully, will remember the 202nd day of his 23rd year, when he became
the youngest England batsman to score an Ashes century at Lord’s
.

In the circumstances, he can be forgiven the gauche ritual of
kissing the England badge on his protective helmet, after he had
cut Ashton Agar through the covers for four to move to his second
Test hundred.

Root deserves such indulgence because the doubters would have
been in full voice had he not survived a flash through the slips
when he had scored eight the previous evening. The instant
judgements, following three immediate failures on his promotion to
open the innings, would have been harsh and premature.

Joy propelled him ten strides towards the boundary where his
younger brother Billy, an MCC groundstaff boy assigned twelfth man
duties in a high visibility fluorescent jacket, was punching the
air. Within minutes he was trending on Twitter. That was an
appropriate honour, since even his nickname (Wireless, derived from
wireless router, geddit?) smacks of modernity.

If someone at headquarters had a modicum of wit and imagination,
they would have sprinkled white rose petals at his feet when he
bathed in the warmth of a standing ovation at the end of play. His
was an achievement which echoed from Barnsley to Barnoldswick, from
Sheffield to Shiptonthorpe, across the People’s Republic of
Yorkshire.

These are heady days for Tykedom. Yorkshire are on top of the
County Championship, and Geoffrey Boycott has taken to telling our
principal politicians how to do their job, when they make the PR
pilgrimage to the Test Match Special studio. Proper criggit and
plain speaking are back on the agenda.

Root proves the principle of an Academy can work in sport,
despite the ruinously expensive mess football has made of its youth
development. He has been earmarked for greatness since the age of
11, when he began to play representative schools cricket.

His example at the Yorkshire Academy, which he joined at 13, is
stellar and being followed slavishly. A new generation is emerging.
Fifteen-year-old bowler Matthew Fisher has been selected for
England Under 19s. Wicketkeeper Barney Gibson, 17, is attracting
rave reviews. Alex Lees, only 20, scored an unbeaten 275 in Friday’s
win against Derbyshire.

Root’s remarkable progress is testament to measured, intelligent
and effective coaching. He is more gritty and pragmatic than the
likes of Kevin Pietersen, who was brought up on the reliable bounce
of hard, dry pitches in South Africa. He has learned to improvise
on Yorkshire puddings.

This innings, which will surely be extended into a double
century this morning, has been studded with sumptuous straight
drives, and examples of great technique under pressure. He has
wonderful hand-eye co-ordination, and the ability to wait, to play
late and effectively, which is the hallmark of the very best.

His ready smile disguises a killer temperament. For much of the
day, play was the equivalent of a clearing up operation after a
particularly wild party. The music was reduced to a background hum,
and the previous night’s empties were being ferried to the tidy tip
in a series of dustbin bags. It was quiet. Too damn quiet.

But once Root reached his century, he revealed himself as a
stealthy assassin. The acceleration was instant, the aggression
immediate. It completed the demoralisation of the Australians,
whose body language suggested they will welcome oblivion, even if
it arrives in the form of a series whitewash. For poor Smith,
smashed for two sixes by Root in his final over, the agony refused
to subside.